by Allan Topol
Ben saw beads of perspiration breaking out on Gillis's forehead. His blue prison shirt was wet under the arms. Ben was getting to him now. He always liked to lay out his best evidence and the worst penalty. That technique usually worked to obtain a confession. When people asked how he could do this for a living, he responded, "Because more than ninety-nine percent of the people who get to this point in our system are guilty, and I'm doing a public service by getting them off the streets." Now he would move in for the kill.
"You've got a choice," he said softly. "It doesn't have to be the electric chair."
Gillis looked up.
"If you play ball with me and you confess, I won't go for the max. I'll go for a lesser charge. No trial. No electric chair. It's as simple as that. I'll be on your side. I'll sell it to the judge. Five years in jail. Max. With good behavior, you'll be out in two. What do you say?"
"I didn't kill him," Gillis said stubbornly.
"Right. And a little birdie flew into your truck and put the money and gun under the seat."
Gillis looked bewildered. "I don't know how they got there."
"A judge and jury will know." Ben went for the jugular. "You're dead meat. You don't have a prayer. That electric chair's bolted down to the floor, and they tie you in real tight. 'Cause otherwise, you'd fly up to the ceiling when they turn on the juice. Your flesh will fry. Your eyes will pop out of your head. You know what that feels like?"
Gillis was terrified. "I didn't kill anybody."
"And I play quarterback for the Washington Redskins."
Feeling helpless, frightened to death, Gillis leaned over and put his head into his hands. Ben paced back and forth across the room. "It's entirely your choice," he said, sounding indifferent. "The easy way or the hard. For me, it's just another case. For you, it's your life on the line. You want to be around to watch your kids grow up, or have them toss flowers on your grave?"
Suddenly, it all became too much for Gillis. With his head still in his hands, he began to cry—first muffled sobs and then racking cries of anguish. The sounds pierced the stillness of the room and made Ben shudder. He waited for Gillis to finish.
When Gillis finally looked up at him through tear-stained, bloodshot eyes, Ben said calmly, "I want to be your friend. I can help you. All you've got to do is confess."
"But I didn't kill Mr. Winthrop," Gillis said weakly.
"Sorry, bud," Ben said in contempt. "You've lied to me once too often. You just lost my friendship. You're on your own now."
Ben looked at the second hand on the clock. He let the room remain in total silence for a full sixty seconds.
"Last chance," he said grimly.
"I didn't do it."
Ben hit the buzzer on the wall. The interview was over.
* * *
"You fucked up," Fulton said to Ben. "You quit too soon. You had him on the ropes. You could have put him away and gotten a confession."
Along with Traynor, they were back in Ben's office.
Traynor was ready to jump to Ben's defense, but Ben cut him off. "How many suspects have you ever interrogated, hotshot?"
Fulton's face showed righteous indignation. "That's not the point."
"It is the point. I've seen your resume. The answer is not a single fucking one."
"I'm a good judge of people."
Ben moved in close, madder than hell. "You're a kid who's wet behind the ears. Go back to the White House, for chrissake. Let Bill and me do our jobs."
Fulton extended his first two fingers and jabbed them against Ben's chest. "You're wrong."
Ben savagely pushed Fulton back by the shoulders, knocking him against the wall. "Don't you ever touch me again."
Traynor moved in quickly and put himself between the two. "Hey, c'mon, we're all on the same side."
"I want an apology from him, or I'm out of here," Ben said.
Turning to Fulton, Traynor said patiently, "He's interrogated hundreds of witnesses. We have to rely on his instincts. Slater asked for him specifically on the case, because of his record. We've got to work with him."
Invoking Slater's name had the desired effect. The rigidness went out of him. His face changed from bright red to a mottled pink. "Okay, I'm sorry, Ben," Fulton said reluctantly. "Maybe I got a little carried away. I thought you were so close. I wanted a confession."
Ben wasn't listening. Instead he was thinking about Gillis crying with his head in his hands. "You guys are going to hate this," he said, "but there's another possibility. That Gillis didn't kill Winthrop."
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Fulton said. "Did you forget what we found in the truck?"
That was powerful evidence, Ben thought, which couldn't be dismissed. "They could have been planted," he said, speaking softly because he knew he was on shaky ground.
"Oh, yeah? Who planted them?"
Ben was trying to put it all together in his mind. "I don't have any idea."
"I don't fucking believe I'm hearing this."
"Then go get your ears checked," Ben snapped. "Regardless of what I think about Gillis's guilt, I'm not ready to file charges against him. With what we have now, if a decent defense counsel puts Gillis on the stand, he'll come off credible to a jury in this town and walk. They'll use the absence of Nesbitt to find reasonable doubt."
Getting red in the face again, Fulton could barely contain himself. "Well, I'm sure as hell not going to let you release Gillis," he cried. "I'll go to Mr. Slater, and he'll—"
"Save your big guns, hotshot. I don't want to release Gillis right now, anyhow, because of what we found in his truck."
"Then what the hell do you want to do?"
Ignoring him, Ben checked to see if he had any coffee left in his cup. There were only the dregs. Finally he said, "We'll hold Gillis in jail as long as we can without filing charges. That'll sweat him. Meantime, we try to find George Nesbitt. We need him to explain what happened at his meeting with Winthrop. We need him to convince us that Winthrop was alive and well when he left the house." Ben turned to Traynor. "Get the Bureau to pull out all the stops on finding George Nesbitt. Here and in California."
Traynor nodded, glad to get to a practical course of action. "What else do you want me to do, Ben?"
"Have a couple of your best people canvass Gillis's neighborhood. See if one of the neighbors saw anyone approach Gillis's truck Saturday night or Sunday morning, before you found the money and the gun. It's possible somebody planted that stuff in his truck."
"Will do."
Fulton was shaking his head in disbelief. "And what happens if we don't find Nesbitt? What then?"
This guy would step on his grandmother's face to get ahead, Ben thought. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
Chapter 7
Jennifer was alone in the suite Ann had reserved for her at the Mayfair Regent, overlooking Madison Avenue. Her head ached as she glanced at the desk cluttered with papers. It was a helluva way to spend a Sunday evening in New York, trying to complete a brief on behalf of KRC Industries, a large conglomerate charged with a criminal violation of the Clean Air Act for improperly emitting chemicals into the air at a plant it owned in West Virginia. State officials had informally authorized continued operations to keep employees working while complex pollution-control issues were being resolved. Unfortunately, the U.S. EPA didn't like the deal and took the case to a grand jury, which approved the filing of criminal charges. Jennifer was staring at a trial date the first week in January. After rubbing her head for several moments, she walked over to her suitcase in search of a bottle of Advil. Suddenly, the phone rang.
"Did I wake you?" Ann asked.
"I wish."
"We have to talk."
Ann sounded distraught, and Jennifer quickly replied, "I'll be right there."
"No, meet me downstairs at the bar."
"Are you up to that?"
"At this hour it's sure to be deserted."
* * *
They sat at a small round table in a c
orner of the nearly empty room. A sad-looking, gray-haired black pianist was finishing up his final set of the evening. "Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end...."
The waiter deposited two glasses of Grand Marnier and quickly departed.
"I just heard the news on television," Ann blurted out. "They arrested Clyde Gillis, my gardener, for killing Robert."
"This fast? That's pretty good police work."
Ann shook her head, looking somber and intense. "But he didn't do it."
"How do you know that?"
She stiffened in her seat, outraged. "I've known Clyde Gillis for years. He's honest. He's devout. He would never do something like that."
"You can't always tell what another person will do. Even if you think you know him."
"Don't you understand?" Ann insisted. "They want a scapegoat to reassure people. To show that the administration's on top of things. Clyde Gillis happened to be there."
"You don't know what evidence they have," Jennifer said carefully.
"I know he didn't do it." Her eyes were sparkling with certainty.
"You want to tell me how you know that?"
Ann ignored the question. "I want you to represent Clyde Gillis," she announced.
Jennifer was startled. That was about the last thing she had expected to hear. "You can't be serious."
"Why not?"
"The man's charged with killing your husband."
Ann snorted. "Clyde Gillis is a decent human being. Robert was an SOB."
Jennifer couldn't figure out where Ann was coming from. She had a crazed look in her eyes. Was she losing it? "I can't do it, Ann."
Ann leaned forward, touching Jennifer's wrist. "I'll pay whatever fee you want. About an hour ago the estate lawyer who handled Robert's business affairs stopped by. He told me that I'm going to inherit a couple of houses and about sixty-two million after taxes."
"C'mon, you know money's not the issue. You paid my way through law school, for God's sake. When I offered to pay you back, you refused to take it, telling me that you might need a good lawyer one day. Even without all of that, I'd do anything for you."
"Then why won't you take the case?"
"I'd love to," she said, knowing full well how liberal Ann was. "I went to law school to help people and to cure injustice. I'm not exactly getting job satisfaction from representing corporate polluters, but..." She hesitated.
"But what?"
"I participated in a number of murder cases when I was at Justice. But I was never lead counsel." She could see Ann was unmoved. "I'll get one of my partners to do it. Jimmy Elkins does stuff like this every day of the week. And he's a good lawyer."
"I don't know Jimmy Elkins, but I know you. You're a terrific lawyer. You've always been a star in court—when you were at the Justice Department and in private law practice." Ann paused to sip her drink. "Sorry, Jenny, it has to be you. I'm asking you to do it as a favor. Because we're friends. I need you."
"But why? I don't understand."
Ann took a deep breath. "I've got to tell you something, and when you hear it, you will change your mind."
She took another sip before beginning, putting Jennifer on the edge of her chair. What mystery was she about to learn?
"For about the last three years," Ann began slowly in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, "I suspected that Robert was frequently sleeping with other women, but I couldn't prove it. So I didn't confront him. We had no real marriage. Oh, we had sex, sometimes frequently, but I didn't enjoy it. I didn't care. I was seriously thinking of divorce. Then about two weeks ago—it was November the first, I remember the date—we were having dinner at home one evening, and he got an emergency call from Liu, the Chinese ambassador."
"How'd you know it was the Chinese ambassador?"
"Maria answered the phone, came into the dining room, and announced Robert had a call. At first he didn't take it. He told her to take a message and to say he would call back."
"Then what happened?"
"She returned a few minutes later and said that it was the Chinese ambassador calling on an urgent personal matter."
"This time he took the call?"
"Right. He was talking in the other room. I couldn't hear anything he was saying. When he returned to the dining room, he was shaken. Really shaken."
"That doesn't sound like Robert."
"Exactly. That's why I was stunned to see him. I don't think he's ever been so upset. I mean, his face was as white as chalk. Well, anyhow, he said that Ambassador Liu would be coming to the house in about two hours. He would be meeting with Liu in his study downstairs, and under no circumstances was he to be disturbed. I knew that Robert had been locked in a bitter battle with the Chinese government for several months because he wanted the President to authorize a huge arms sale to Taiwan. Beijing was adamantly opposed to the sale. So my guess from the way he seemed, all agitated, was that the Chinese government had something to use against him and get their way on the sale. I wanted to know what it was myself because I figured it might help me to get a divorce."
"So what'd you do?"
"When Robert went up to dress, I went downstairs to his study. I planted a small, unobtrusive recorder that looks like a paperweight on one of the bookcases. I use it sometimes during a rehearsal when I'm directing," she explained. "The actors have no idea that they're being recorded, so they're not inhibited. Later, I can listen to the recording and pick up things I may have missed."
Ann paused to finish her drink. She signaled to the waiter for another and didn't continue until he had replaced her drink and departed.
"Anyhow," she continued, "Ambassador Liu came and stayed about an hour. Robert made sure that Maria and I were upstairs. I peeked out from the top of the stairs and saw the ambassador when he arrived, but he couldn't see me. Then I waited until Robert left for the office the next day to play the tape."
"What'd Liu say?"
"When Robert had been in London two weeks earlier, for a meeting with the Chinese foreign minister, he used a woman in London named Peg Barton to arrange an evening for him with two prostitutes, together in bed at the same time. The Chinese knew about this. They had the whole thing on video. Liu gave Robert a copy of the video, and told him that they had another copy. He also told Robert that they knew he hired prostitutes in many other places as well. Then very smoothly Liu turned to the decision on arms for Taiwan. He gave Robert a choice. Robert had thirty days to change his position on the arms sale or resign as secretary of state. Either way, the video would be forgotten. But if he didn't do either by December the first, then Beijing would act in a manner that 'would embarrass' Robert personally. Those were the ambassador's words. To me, it meant they would go public with the video."
Jennifer let out a low involuntary whistle.
"Yeah, that is a mouthful. Isn't it?"
"So what'd you do?"
"Well, the next day I found the video in one of Robert's desk drawers. I played it, which made me slightly ill. I mean, I'm not exactly a prude when it comes to sex, but Jesus, the three of them were doing about everything you could imagine. Well, anyhow, I made copies of both the video and the audiotape, opened a new safe-deposit box at Bank of America across from the treasury, and locked them inside. I returned the video to Robert's desk, and that night I confronted him."
"How'd he respond?"
"As you might imagine, he was plenty pissed that I'd recorded his conversation with Liu. I told him that I wanted a divorce without a penny of his money. If I didn't get it, I would leak the story of his London fun and games to the press."
"Good move."
"I thought so, too. He agreed to the divorce, if I never mentioned the video to anyone and waited a year until after Brewster's reelection. His proposal was that we continue to live together in the house, keeping up appearances. He wouldn't make any demands on me, sexual or otherwise. That was good enough for me." She paused. "Then someone killed him. So here I am," she added in a caustic tone, "the happy
and wealthy widow."
"But what does this have to do with his death?" Jennifer asked.
Ann swallowed hard and said, "I think the Chinese government arranged for Robert's death to change the administration's decision on the Taiwan arms deal when he wouldn't do what they wanted. That's why I know Clyde Gillis didn't do it."
Jennifer's eyes opened wide. "That's a mighty big jump from what you've told me so far."
"Then add this. Yesterday, Ambassador Liu sent somebody to break into my house and steal back the video he left with Robert."
Jennifer was shocked. "How do you know Liu was responsible for that?"
"C'mon, Jennifer. The intruder was trying out tapes in the television when I confronted him. Who else could it have been?"
"What happened?"
Ann tapped her fist on the table and smiled. "I hit him with an old baseball bat of Matt's, but my swing didn't do the job. He got away from me. I chased him out of the house, but I was too slow. He drove away in a maroon Toyota Camry. I couldn't get a license plate number."
Jennifer couldn't believe Ann sounded so cavalier about what had happened. First her husband had been murdered in the house, then the intruder. It all sounded incredibly frightening. "Did he get the video?"
"No. After Robert was killed, I put the original the ambassador gave Robert in the safe upstairs in the bedroom where I keep my jewelry. And as I told you, I have a copy of the video in a bank downtown."
"What about the police? Did you call them, or the FBI?"
"I thought about it, but rejected it. At the time, I didn't think the attempt to steal the video was connected to Robert's death, and I didn't want my personal life dragged into it."
"And now?"
"I can't tell them because I'm convinced the Chinese government was responsible for Robert's death. Clyde's arrest tells me that somebody in the administration knows that and wants to cover it up. Besides, you saw Ed Fulton. That guy's something else."
"Regardless of whom that character in the maroon Toyota is working for, you know he'll be back to get that video."
